


Pre-election Special

by darkandstormyslash



Category: The Thick of It (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-14
Updated: 2015-09-14
Packaged: 2018-04-20 19:10:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4799069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkandstormyslash/pseuds/darkandstormyslash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The 2015 election is in two weeks - Dan Miller is falling, Scotland is rising, and Ollie is panicking.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pre-election Special

Ollie knows he can't contact Malcolm, because that particular bridge burnt down the moment the press pack arrived at Malcolm's arrest. But he needs something, some help even if he's too proud to ask for it, some support that he knows nobody will give him. He clears an hour in his schedule to try and hunt down the man's contact details but in the end it takes him ten minutes and google. And seven of those minutes are wasted with the wrong spelling of "MacDonald".

"James MacDonald, Head of Communications, Scottish Party?"

Ollie has to sit down at the voice, fighting an urge not to giggle, "/James?/"

Brief silence then, "Is that the wanker from The Guardian? What the fuck were you playing at on Friday then? You come, you ask questions, you go, you do not start trying to fucking initiate group hugs and asking about the kids, yeah?"

Ollie listens, listens because shamefully he's clinging onto his phone like a lifeline. Hearing a Scottish accent shouting abuse at him is more comforting than it probably should be. Eventually, once he's learned a bit more about the Scottish Party's relationship with the media then he probably should have, he croaks out, "It's me. Ollie. Ollie Reeder."

There's a small shocked silence then a loud and happy sounding laugh, "Reeder? Dan fucking Miller's Reeder? Oooh you are _fucked_ you are. This election is going to fuck you so hard they're going to have to wipe your party up with the fucking wank stains."

"I know..." Ollie manages to mutter, because that's the least pathetic thing he can think of to say. Jamie is the first person in a very long time who's actually sounded pleased to have Ollie on the other end of the phone.

"But you must be used to that by now, aye?" Jamie continues, still sounding delighted, "I mean you get that every night from Dan Miller! And now you're going to get it from Miller, and the press, and every single fucking person in Scotland, and when they've all finished Dan Miller is going to take what's left of you with a, with a fucking _cricket_ bat for the way you've treated him in your fucked up little skid mark of a campaign."

"At least we have a respected political party -" Ollie tries, reeling a bit from the mental image, but he's happy to let Jamie continue as the man interrupts him,

"We've got a twenty year old lass standing, twenty years old, she's only been _drinking_ for two years. And this is in a place where four years ago you could've stuck a red rosette on your fucking _appendix_ and got it elected. Now this lass, she's going to win! And what are you going to do about it?"

"Have you heard from Malcolm?" He manages to blurt out eventually. Thankfully that shuts Jamie up for a few moments.

"Not much, no."

"Not _much_?"

"Well I know the old sod's out of prison. Not that he was in for very long, the slimy bastard. Heard that from Nicholson."

"You - Julius _Nicholson_ keeps in touch with you?" Ollie can't keep the shock out of his voice.

"Oh aye, stupid bald coot sends a Christmas letter each year, think he sends one to everyone he's ever shaken hands with. I don't usually read it." Jamie lies shamelessly.

"He doesn't send one to me..."

"Yeah well that's because you're basically a useless little twat-featured gay pillock." Jamie supplies helpfully.

"Yeah..." Ollie sighs, staring at the opposite wall. As soon as he gets off the phone, he knows he's going to have to get back to work - trying to convince people who hate him to write nice things about Dan Miller, who they also hate, and who Ollie is starting to slowly despise.

"Alright well did you want anything, because this fucking election is in two weeks and I've got a list longer than my fucking cock to get through in the next ten seconds?" Ollie can hear the sound of phones ringing in the background, people talking, laughing, bustling activity. Jamie, he knows, will be messily and gloriously in the middle of it all, one sleeve rolled up, a squat bottle of beer in the other hand, shouting orders and insults and he suddenly feels wildly and unbearably jealous of the whole of Scotland.

"No, I just wanted to tell you that we're fighting a damn good campaign here, and you shouldn't be as confident as you're pretending." Ollie gives it a go, but his heart isn't in it, and it isn't even a good excuse to start with.

"God, I didn't realise it was going that fucking badly." Is all Jamie replies, and then the phone hangs up.


End file.
